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Chuck Lorre Productions
thumb|304px Nach dem Abspann jeder Episode gibt es eine Notiz, auch Vanity Card genannt, von Chuck Lorre Productions. Jede Notiz ist zufällig nummeriert und beinhaltet einen oft humorvollen Text von Chuck Lorre. Der Text wird nur sehr kurz angezeigt, sodass keine Zeit ist um alles lesen zu können. Man kann es nur lesen, wenn man das TV-Bild anhält oder beim Abspielen der DVD auf Pause drückt. Alle Vanity Cards sind auf Englisch. Manche Notizen werden zensiert, jedoch kann man sie auf Chuck Lorres Website nachlesen. Vanity Cards Hier ist eine Auflistung aller Vanity Cards die am Ende von The Big Bang Theory zu sehen waren. Staffel 1 Staffel 2 CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #235 FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION (spoiler alert) It's that time of the year when movie studios seeking Oscar nominations for their films start asking for my consideration. Every trade ad and mailing begins with the words, "For your consideration." It's kind of a Hollywood tradition. Anyway, this is what I've considered so far: Milk (a well-meaning gay guy is shot to death by a homophobe), Doubt (A really mean nun accuses a really terrific priest of being a pedophile), Revolutionary Road (a married couple fight a lot, cheat on each other, then the wife bleeds to death following a botched abortion), Slumdog Millionaire (incredibly poor kids subjected to unthinkable evil, but with a happy ending), Defiance (starving Jews fight Nazis in the woods), The Wrestler (a broken-down, over-the-hill wrestler on steroids has a tough life), Changeling (a woman's son is abducted and the police put her in an insane asylum), Gran Torino (a dying widower commits suicide to help his neighbor), Benjamin Button (a guy grows old in reverse and then dies), Rachel Getting Married (a drug addict kills her baby brother and then pisses off her family during a wedding), and The Reader (Nazi atrocities, under-age sex and illiteracy prove to be a lethal combo). So, what am I considering? Well, for a moment or two I actually considered hanging myself. But then I thought, if I do that, the movies win. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #237 There's a funny moment in tonight's episode where Sheldon gets stuck on a rock-climbing wall and remarks, "What part of an inverse tangent function approaching an asymptote don't you understand?" I thought it'd be helpful to take a moment and examine that joke. A linear asymptote is essentially a straight line to which a graphed curve moves closer and closer but does not reach. In other words, given a function y=fn(x) with asymptote A, A represents a number that, no matter how big (or, given the function, small) you make x, y will never make it to A. The particular example Sheldon quotes is the inverse Tangent function, or Arctangent, which has two asymptotes. If you graph it, it sort of looks like a horizontal S: http://images.wikia.com/bigbangtheory/images/3/31/Vc237gif.gifVanity Card 237Hinzugefügt von ZeypherNo matter how big you make x (that is, how far you move to the right), the function is never going to hit that top line (π/2), and no matter how small x gets (moving to the left), y is never going to be smaller than - π/2. The more you know, the funnier it gets. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #239 TO DO LIST Live to see a highly educated, deeply thoughtful, articulate, cool, biracial President who is not overly crippled by childhood wounds and capable, in no particular order, of freeing the nation of its oil dependence, restoring its international standing, creating universal health care, resurrecting the economy, ending two wars, rebuilding the public education system, finally bringing about an end to the mindlessness of racism, encouraging science and technology, firmly addressing environmental issues and global warming, and uniting the nation - and the world - in a giant cultural, tipping point leap forward. Meet super-intelligent aliens who disarm the entire planet, cure every disease and take us all for rides across the galaxy. Play a round of par golf. Trade solos with Eric Clapton. Win an Emmy. Get married, stay married. One down, five to go.My golf is so much better since the Constitution was disregarded by the Villian in the white house. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #242 A NOTE TO MY COLLEAGUES After writing and producing TV for twenty years, I have developed a survival mechanism I like to call "show biz peripheral vision." What this means is that I can set my attention on the work at hand and still be able to see what's going on around me. The huddled confabs, the whispered asides, the sideways glances, the roll of the eyes, the smirks of disdain, the sulking pouts, the exhalations of disgust, the looks of admiration (few and far between), and the endless variations of body language that reveal impatience, rejection, jealousy, and simple disbelief that I'm in charge and you're not. I see it all. And I don't comment. I just make note of it. Occasionally I will respond in a roundabout fashion that might make you think I'm clairvoyant. I am not. I am simply watching. Just thought you might like to know. Carry on. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #243 Trying to get a break as a song writer I find out where Harry Nilsson lives and bring him a box of reel-to-reel tapes of my original songs. He threatens to kill me if I ever come to his house again. Not funny then, funny now. While working at Marvel Animation I'm told I don't have what it takes to write for the Muppet Babies. Sadly, it's true. Not funny then, funny now. Write French Kissin' in the USA which is covered by Debbie Harry and released as the first single for her debut solo album. It effectively ends her solo career. Not funny then, funny now. Co-write theme song for new animated series called Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The show is a massive international success. The music publisher tells my partner and I that we will not be paid music royalties for the millions of video games and video cassettes being sold. The reason we are given is that they'd rather not pay us. Not funny then, still not funny. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #245 More of "Not Funny Then" I''' decide getting on staff at Roseanne would be a great opportunity for me, even though every writer who had ever worked on the show had been fired. Four weeks into the job I deliver my first script and I'm almost fired. Not funny then, funny now. '''I create Grace Under Fire, realize what I'm in for and try to quit after pilot is picked up to series. I try to quit again during Christmas. A few weeks later the Northridge earthquake hits. During a large aftershock I drop to my knees and pray for the sound stage to collapse and kill me. Not funny then, funny now. I think developing a new series starring Cybill Shepherd is a swell idea. The show is an instant hit. Cybill wants me to fire Lee Aronsohn because he's a misogynist. She's not wrong, but I jokingly tell her, "Why do you care? You're not a woman." She fires us both. I get the call not to come back to work on Yom Kippur from a Carsey-Werner exec named Dirk Van De Bunt. Not funny then, still not funny. Thanks for the joke, Doc! CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #248 I believe that Newton's first law of motion is the reason we will emerge from our current economic woes. That law states that an object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. How does that relate to the financial #$%*storm we're now cowering under? Allow me to explain. There are slightly less than seven billion people on this planet. Assuming that roughly half that number are either too young, too old, too lazy, or too loaded to work, that still leaves almost three and a half billion people getting up in the morning to chase the almighty dollar, the transcendent rupee, the zen yen,the dear ol' euro, the what's goin' on yuan, the... well, you get the idea. Now, call me crazy (and many have called me far worse), but I happen to think that three and a half billion motivated people is one big damn object in motion. And the only thing acting against that object is the friction caused by a small bunch of greedy, dumbass, screw-the-pooch, Ivy League pot stickers (the unbalanced force). I therefore assert that the unbalanced force (you know who you are, shame on you), will eventually be overwhelmed by the object in motion (three and a half billion people with pluck, aka pluckers), thus allowing the object in motion to continue its relentless journey forward, thriving and conniving until it is once again slowed down by other unbalanced forces, or a very large meteorite. Or a plague. Or fundamentalists with nukes. Or atmosphere-eating nanobots. Or a super volcano. Or Skynet. Or Cylons. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #249 More and more, it seems like people are yelling at me. This is especially noticeable on local and cable news, TV and radio ads, morning, afternoon and late night talk shows, religious channels, entertainment tabloid shows, and, NPR aside, radio. It's almost as if all the news anchors, reporters, product pitchmen, talk show hosts, politicians, sportscasters, DJ's and preachers have forgotten how good modern microphones are. Regardless, the purpose of vanity cards is not just to point out the problem, it's also to propose the solution. And here's one: The Whisper Channel. A cable news channel where everyone, including advertisers, speaks in gentle, dulcet tones. Our marketing tag line will be one word, "shhh." Instead of grinning, shouting, overly-coiffed failed actors, our news anchors will be regular folks with beautiful speaking voices who, just to be on the safe side, have been heavily sedated. Think of it. You've had a brutal day at work. Traffic on the way home was a righteous bitch. You crawl into your home which is worth far less than you paid for it, and, because you want to stay informed, you turn on The Whisper Channel where a pleasant-looking woman with real hair, real nose, real wrinkles, real breasts and teeth the color of teeth, soothingly tells you about the latest terrorist attack, stock market fiasco, school shooting and, just to keep it interesting, emergency recall of the anti-anxiety meds you've been taking because they might cause impotence, blindness and insanity. But because of the way she says it, you are hunky dory. ALTERNATE MARKETING TAG LINE: the whisper channel... where human civilization sliding into the abyss is nothing to shout about. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #250 For months I've woken up to a mysterious, intermittent banging sound coming from somewhere in my home. I can't tell you how many mornings I groggily walked around in my pajamas searching for its cause. Frustrated by my inability to locate the source of the banging, I falsely accused my ancient refrigerator and began seeking a replacement. But then I caught a break. Rising early one morning for reasons urinary, I stumbled across the real source of the strange noise -- a small, yellow-breasted bird living in a tree next to the kitchen window. Periodically, he would fly to the window, furiously peck at it with his beak, then quickly retreat to a nearby branch. At first I assumed that the morning light caused him to see his reflection and, being of limited intelligence, or filled with self-loathing, attack it. But once again, my initial instinct proved to be wrong. After a long conversation with the bird, I learned that he was banging on the window because he had it in for my refrigerator. I have since apologized to the fridge, but it has been, not surprisingly, cool towards me. Sorry, that really wasn't worth the journey. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #252 The following is an excerpt from my keynote speech at the 2009 SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY WRITERS OF AMERICA NEBULA AWARDS. When I was 12 years old, my teenage sister had a boyfriend whom my parents lovingly named "Cross-Eyed Larry." In my official capacity as the "obnoxious little brother," I took it upon myself to annoy and harass poor Larry at every opportunity. In fact, I specifically learned to cross my eyes so I could welcome him to our home with the appropriately juvenile comedic flair. (My mother constantly warned me that if I didn't stop doing that my eyes would stay crossed. In hindsight it appears as if she was lying or, at best, misinformed.) Anyway, my speech tonight is a long overdue attempt to make amends for my childish pestering and cruelty towards this polite young man whose only discernible character flaw was a poorly-aimed libido (no way he was getting over on my sister). But even more than an amends, I needed to find some way to thank him. And here's why: way back in 1964, Larry did something that would change my life forever. In order to get rid of me so he could stick his tongue down my sister's throat, Larry gave me a dog-eared copy of Ray Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles. His plan worked brilliantly. The book not only turned my prepubescent, Hardy Boys world upside down, it would begin my lifelong love affair with science fiction. Unfortunately, Cross-Eyed Larry was not so lucky. Ultimately rejected by my sister, he descended into a life of drugs and crime that ended tragically when he was murdered in Attica State Prison because another inmate thought he was looking at him funny. Staffel 3 CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #258 CARL THE ROOSTER The day Carl was made henhouse rooster had to be the proudest day of his life. Oh, how he strutted and preened outside the little hut where all the chickens lived. From the corner of his eye he could see them nervously peeking out to see the new cock of the walk. You could hardly blame him for smiling so smugly. He knew that from that moment on, if a chicken wanted extra feed, well, she had to ask Carl. Same thing for pecking privileges in the yard. And of course, when it came time to lay eggs, the premium spots nearest the warming lamps were handed out by you-know-who. Yep, life was good for ol' Carl. Up at dawn, a loud clearing of the throat, a largely ceremonial patrol of the perimeter, and then, an afternoon and evening of doling out favors to the chickens. And the best part about it was he never had to actually ask for anything in return. He would simply tell each chicken to decide for herself what, if anything, she should give him to ensure his continued friendship. But let me tell you, it's no accident he named his rooster hut "Casa Quid Pro Quo." Yep, Carl had it knocked. At least until he was forced out of his job by a class-action paternity suit that was entirely without merit and probably politically motivated by bitter, eggless chickens. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #260 FASHION TRENDS Dead is the new unambiguous. Bipolar is the new undecided. Heavily armed is the new born again. Bald is the new head... and the new crotch. Hairy is the new face. Sheepishly admitting to having an STD is the new flirting. Purell is the new face of fear. Finding the time that's right for you is the new impotence. The smiley-face emoticon is the new "sincerely yours." Smoking is the new outdoorsy lifestyle. Looking forward to insanely expensive private schooling, thousand dollar a week nannies and soccer is the new yuppie birth control. Misinformed is the new patriotic. Veganism is the new "tastes like chicken." Serotonin uptake inhibiting is the new crowd control. Texting is the new talking. Talking is the new singing. Singing is the new hubris. Gay marriage is the new "be careful what you wish for." And finally, and only because I really need this to catch on, fifty-seven years old is the new forty-five. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #262 As best as I can tell, life is intolerable. Oh, not always of course. A case can be made for all the big wonders and little blessings and blah, blah, blah. But when you really boil it down, our entire existence rests on a few really ugly premises. First, life, and by that I mean the big life, life with a capital L, must ingest other life in order for it to remain life. Or, put another way, in order to witness the miracle of creation, we must continually eat, and then poop out, a little bit of that miracle. Second, one of the charming side effects of sentient life is emotional pain. The fact that dead and fermenting plant life creates alcohol - a terrific anesthetic for emotional pain - might cause one to think that this is, by nature, a compassionate universe. Think again. Keep dulling that pain with booze and you wind up, if you're lucky, in a church basement sharing your tears with complete strangers. If you're not lucky, you wind up on a waiting list for a motorcyclist's liver. And finally, there is the ever-present knowledge of death. In order to "more fully appreciate the gift of life," we all get to ponder a violently sudden or slow and agonizingly painful descent into oblivion -- after which our beloved bodies turn into the stuff of nightmares. Which brings me back to my original premise: life is intolerable. But rather than go gently into that creepy night, I've decided to start a petition to protest the fundamental conditions of existence. I know it's not much, but it's a start. And damnit, I'm just the guy to do it! The petition is available at chucklorre.com. Sign on now and make your voice heard before you're dead and your vocal chords are being eaten by a swarm of disgusting bugs. PETITION PETITION FOR IMMEDIATE CHANGE IN THE CONDITIONS OF EXISTENCE! We, the undersigned, disagree with the fundamental conditions of existence, including, but not limited to, hunger, sickness, death, emotional pain, and having to get up and pee in the middle of the night. By affixing our names to this petition we announce our dissatisfaction to whoever or whatever designed this ridiculous system and demand immediate change. (More info here...) YOU: That's a pretty bold statement. How do you figure? {C ME: Glad you asked. Since the concept of past and future is entirely man-made (ask any other living creature about past and future and all you'll get is a dumb, non-comprehending stare), then it follows that if there is a god, a unifying spirit of the universe, be it "intelligent" or simply a pervasively unifying quantum particle sort of deal, then the present, "the constantly unfolding now," is the only possible place it can exist. Which brings me to my bold assertion: If you laughed at any time during tonight's show, you had to be paying attention. If you were paying attention it means you were, for that moment, in "the now" -- the same place as the previously mentioned pervasive, unifying quantum particle we, as a species, enjoy worshipping and committing genocide over. Ergo, you had a spiritual experience. {C YOU: Assuming you're right, so what? ME: So what?! This is huge! If a simple sitcom can lead to communion with the eternal, then I can make a case for my work having religious significance. Next step... The Church of Chuckology and a tax break! Ooh, maybe even a sleepy little burg in Florida I can call my own. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #265 "Your light was on." CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #111* This is the official "I have nothing worth writing about" vanity card. It will run whenever I have nothing worth writing about. Don't be surprised to see it quite a bit. From now on, when our schedule requires me to deliver a new card and I'm empty, I'll simply say, "Run one-eleven." A check of the one hundred and ten cards I've already written will quickly demonstrate that I should have written this card a long time ago. Why didn't I? Vanity. I had become vain about my vanity cards. I was determined to write a new one each week because, well... I'm just that kind of guy. But I'm older and wiser now. I know when I have nothing to say. And that knowledge is freedom. Freedom from the constant need to win your approval. And more importantly, freedom from the obsessive and relentless need to end each vanity card on a joke. Glenn Beck is sober.* CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #267 Last weekend I went on a movie date with a very nice lady. During the coming attractions I managed to get a piece of popcorn down the wrong pipe. I started coughing. People nearby glanced at me nervously. Then, as the movie was about to begin, I got a tickle in my nose and sneezed. Twice. The young couple sitting to my left immediately got up and moved across the aisle. The old lady directly in front of me leapt to her feet and literally vaulted over her husband in order to sit further away from me. For some reason, I was a little miffed. But then I realized the newfound power I had. I got up, crossed closer to the old lady and young couple and coughed again. They all glared at me and once again moved their seats. The game was on! Maneuvering like a knight on a chess board, I countered their move by moving two rows down and one seat over. I looked at them. I smiled. I coughed. They were stunned. How could this be happening? How had their simple movie outing turned into an Edgar Allan Poe short story? But it had! In a matter of minutes, they had become Prince Prospero and his noble cohorts, while I, I had become the Red Death! The old woman covered her mouth and nose with her hand and cried out, "Why are you doing this to us?!" I laughed and said, "Why? You want to know why? Because death, my dear woman, is the inevitable end for us all! And there is no hiding from it. Even at the AMC!" A horrible silence hung over the theater, no one moved, no one breathed. Then the movie started and we all settled down to enjoy the whacky, 3-D antics of Jim Carrey. Oh, and I'm hoping to go out with the nice lady again, but she has not returned my calls. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #269 I have long believed that part of our problem with resolving race issues in America is our inability to accurately name what we are. Aside from the occasional Johnny and Edgar Winter, there are no white people. Any child with a box of crayons can tell you that white people are, in fact, beige. The sickly ones are gray. Following this crayon logic, one can easily see that there are really no black people. They are brown. Or perhaps raw umber. Or maybe burnt sienna. Frankly, every time I hear someone comment on America's first black president, I can't help thinking, "No, he's not. He's more like caramel." Which is why I think we should all get in the habit of calling each other what we really are. How can you racially slur a man by calling him "beigey" or "umber?" The answer is you can't. Because that's exactly what he is. The melanin doesn't lie. Buy a box of Crayolas and see for yourself. We are all members of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Can I hear a kumbaya? CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #270 Jillian had a urinary tract infection... again. That sentence appeared in my head a few days ago, just as you see it above. I have no idea what it means, other than the obvious, and I don't know anyone named Jillian. Regardless, I thought it'd be interesting to begin a vanity card with it and just see where it goes. Jillian had a urinary tract infection... again. Her doctor liked to abbreviate the condition to UTI. She liked to abbreviate it to TMH - Too Much Humping. Regardless, the road back to vaginal happiness was always the same: cranberry juice and abstinence. Thankfully, her boyfriend, Dudley, was always very understanding. He'd just smile, hold her in his arms and say, "Well, babe, when one door closes, another one opens up." She'd always giggle and blush when he'd say that, but deep down she wished she had the courage to cover his mouth and nose with a chloroform-soaked rag, and then, while he was unconscious, snip off his testicles with the little scissors she uses to groom her schnauzer. All of which explains why the next sentence popped into my head recently. Nobody sang Bee Gees songs on karaoke night like Dudley. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #274 I have coined a new word which I'm hoping will catch on. The word is "fuv." Fuv came about due to my frustration with the phrase, "making love," specifically its inability to capture the wonderfully lusty, grunting nature of the act. I was also unsatisfied with the mono-syllabic Anglo-Saxon word commonly used to describe intercourse. That word failed miserably at describing the deep spiritual and emotional bonding that can occur during sex. But now with my new word, couples engaged in that most intimate of human activities can look into one another's eyes (assuming they're facing one another) and whisper the simple, all-encapsulating phrase, "I fuv you." And yes, they can do all that while listening to my new album of remakes of classic pop hits, including, "If Fuving You Is Wrong, I Don't Wanna Be Right," "I Feel Like Making Fuv," and the immortal, "Come Rain or Come Shine" featuring the lyric, "I'm gonna fuv you, like nobody's fuved you." CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #275 ASK CHUCK! Dear Chuck, At a recent dinner party, I found myself in an awkward situation when the host, a devout atheist, sneezed between spoonfuls of his gazpacho. Without thinking, I said, "God bless you." He gave me a withering look and said, as if to a child, "Golly gee, I sure hope he does." The other guests exploded with laughter, while I imploded with humiliation. To avoid future embarrassment, what is the correct response when an atheist sneezes? Troubled with ahchoo Dear Troubled, First, a little background information. Saying "God bless you" following a sneeze is thought by some to have originated in the sixth century in order to protect the sneezer from falling ill to the bubonic plague. Another possible origin is that people once believed that the devil entered the body during a sneeze and saying "God bless you" could help ward him off. Since the plague has killed something like two hundred million people and the words "God bless you" have, in all likelihood, been said countless times to Glenn Beck, we can safely assume the phrase has no real power against germs or demonic possession. What it does contain is simple human courtesy -- a means by which we express concern for one another. As to how to respond to a sneezing atheist, well, that's easy. Simply say, "Sounds like you're coming down with something, I hope you don't die and rot in a box." CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #277 Belarus is a small, land-locked country next door to Russia, Ukraine, Latvia, Lithuania and Poland. According to Wikipedia, one of its major exports is cattle by-products. Which begs the question, what horrible shape are the cattle in, if all they're good for is felt hats and wallpaper paste? But Belarus does have a bustling TV production industry. One of their most recent hits is a sitcom about four nerdy scientists who live next door to a beautiful blonde waitress. The characters are named Sheldon, Leo, Hovard, Raj and Natasha, and the show is entitled, The Theorists. Each episode begins with a rapid-fire montage of images which takes us from the dawn of time to the present moment. Keeping with that theme, the montage is scored with what is probably the worst piece of recorded pop music since the dawn of time. And finally, each episode appears to be a Russian translation of a Big Bang Theory episode. When we brought this to the attention of the Warner Brothers legal department, we were told that it's next to impossible to sue for copyright infringement in Belarus because the TV production company that is ripping us off is owned and operated by the government of Belarus. Having no other recourse, I'm hoping that this vanity card will be read by the fine folks making The Theorists, and, wracked with guilt, they break down and send us some felt hats. The Kyrgyzstan version of Dharma & Greg already sent me some wallpaper paste. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #279 I worked for Stan Lee twenty-five years ago at Marvel Animation in Los Angeles. My favorite memory is sitting in his office with the legendary Johnny Carson writer, Bob Smith. We were discussing an animated series featuring Rodney Dangerfield as “a dog that got no respect.” (Bob was the actual brains behind the project, I was just hanging around hoping to be included.) Anyway, the meeting was going along nicely, the idea of creating an unloved mutt modeled on Rodney seemed both poignant and hilarious. Then Stan rose from the throne-like seat behind his desk and said, “what this project needs is a real comedy writer.” I looked over at Bob, one of the whitest guys you’ve ever seen, and watched him get even whiter. I glanced down and saw his fists curl into bloodless mallets. A cold, eerie silence filled the room. It felt as if time had stopped. I remember thinking I’m about to see a legendary Johnny Carson writer kill the guy who invented Spider- Man. And then the oddest thing happened. Bob smiled and said, “Yeah, Stan, that’s what it needs, a real comedy writer.” Stan was happy to be agreed with. The clock started ticking again, the atmosphere returned to normal. Bob and I left the office. Stan never had a clue. When I told him this story on the set of The Big Bang Theory, he jokingly said, “So? You’re still not a real comedy writer.” We both laughed. It was funny. But I’m still gonna sic Bob Smith on his wrinkled old ass. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #282 http://images.wikia.com/bigbangtheory/images/e/ef/Vc282big.jpgVanity Card 282Hinzugefügt von Zeypher Lord, if it be thy will, give unto us a story that has lots of comic potential while simultaneously exploring and defining our characters and their relationships (preferably something that hasn't been done on Dick Van Dyke or Friends). If, in thine infinite wisdom, the story you provideth is over-the-top, please help us convince ourselves that we are creating a classic farce so we can look our actors in the eye and explain, with face straight, that jumping the shark is how we demonstrate our love for you. Also make us into a channel through which true and honestly funny dialogue flows to our principal, supporting and guest characters. If, on the day of judgement, thy heavenly words elicit silence from the studio audience, relieve us of our suffering, O' Divine Master, by giving us the strength to tell our friends and family that we are doing a "dramedy." Finally Lord, we call on your infinite mercy, praying that you forgiveth our many network sins, most notably Lenny and Squiggy-style smash cut jokes, and that after we are brought low by the Nielsonites, you lift us up and lead us into the valley of high-concept, vaguely sentimental feature films like thou didst with thine exalted emissary, Judd of Apatow. Amen. Oh, couple more things: May our directors someday figure out a way to start a restaurant scene that does not require a waiter to walk across the room, and may all those internet residuals we fought for during the last strike start rolling in. Amen redux. If no one's around, I'm likely to sing along with Aretha Franklin's version of "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman, but not the Carole King version. I've never understood why anyone would bother making a porn movie that lasts longer than ten minutes. I often pretend that the person standing next to me in an elevator is an unwitting carrier of a deadly airborne disease unleashed by terrorists who hate our freedom. This, of course, forces me to hold my breath until the doors open. Forty years ago I measured my penis with a wood ruler. The irony was lost on me. Sometimes sex just seems like a lot of work. There are mornings when, for no perceivable reason, I turn into a teenage girl and repeatedly change my outfit. I floss so that my dentist will be proud of me. Even when asked, I have never been able to "talk dirty" to a woman without feeling like a complete idiot. My one attempt at manscaping ended in bloodshed. Apparently, it's okay to show brutal violence in graphic, vomit- your-Jenny Craig dinner-up-into-your-mouth detail on a forensic cop show, but it's unacceptable to write about it with a little whimsy. As always, you can read the offending material on my web site, Chucklorre.com. Frankly, I think you'll be disappointed. Censored 287 CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #287 (CENSORED) There's a part of me that yearns to explore the darkness and tragedy of our lives without resorting to jokes that lighten or distract from the fundamental horror of the human condition. Fear, brutality, greed, rage, stupidity, lust, pride, grief, insanity, betrayal. These are but a few of the words we use to describe the ugliness that hides in all of our hearts. But how have I, as a comedy writer, used them? Certainly not to peel away the thin veil of civility that masks the rotting soul sickness that eats at us from within. No. Whenever I attempt to illuminate the pain of our existence, something like this comes out: "Filled with grief and rage over her husband's betrayal, Lenore set his balls on fire then pled insanity." You see my dilemma? Even when I use the appropriate words, my instinct is always to undercut the dramatic. In the above case, with the ludicrous image of fiery testicles. How then shall I write about the harsh reality that is our daily life? The madness and cruelty which assaults us from cradle to grave? I've come to believe that my only hope is to embrace the comedic undercut and then go a step further. In other words, no matter how frightening, I must dive into the nightmare. I must not flinch from the horror. "Filled with grief and rage over her husband's betrayal, Lenore set his balls on fire and then proudly watched as the flames, fueled by a peach-flavored lubricant, leapt to his condom-clad member. She would later plead insanity, but at the moment she was amused to see that "ribbed-for-her-pleasure" latex burns like a son of a bitch." Nope, still not right. Staffel 4 "Blink already, dammit!" Chuck Lörre "Sometimes my life seems to be a never-ending succession of unhappy women." Friedrich Nietzsche "Restaurant bathroom doors should be identified with the words, "men" and "women." Silhouettes and cartoon drawings of sombreros, bowler hats, puffy skirts and pretty mouths do not provide enough information for drunks." Teddy Roosevelt "Jesus" Last Supper was clearly not organized to encourage conversation." Catfish Hunter "My memory of you is better than you." Lao Tzu "Erectile dysfunction commercials cause erectile dysfunction." Words of a prophet, written on a subway wall and tenement hall I have been writing sitcoms for twenty-five years. During this time, I have learned a few things. Practical things. Do's and don't's if you will. For instance, do hire actors based on talent not looks. Somewhere between take eight and take fifteen, you will be hating both yourself and the gorgeous, but clueless ingenue who got the job because she looks exactly like what you imagined the character looks like... or worse, like the kind of woman you could live happily ever after with. Don't waste time with a marginal joke that forces the actor to twist him or herself into a pretzel in order to make funny. It's much better to work a little harder and write a great joke that the actor can do in their sleep. This also allows the actor to be well-rested when it comes time to renegotiate his or her contract. Do try to be kind to the power players. The movers and shakers. The people who tell you how to do your job. After they fail in network TV, they will remember you fondly while they're busy tanking fledgling internet companies. But perhaps more important than do's and don't's is learning to trust in the mysterious power of intuition. The soft inner voice that guides you to a better outcome than experience and logic could ever provide. This is what I call the Zen of Sitcom. The willingness to allow transcendence to play a part in the making of a TV show. Try it sometime in your own job. It can be the source of great inspiration. A word of warning though: it's not foolproof. If your business collapses or you wind up getting fired, you're probably hearing the same voice I listened to when I created Grace Under Fire, Cybill and four or five TV pilots that now function as landfill. If it's possible, try not to listen to that one. As inner voices go, it's kind of a douche. 1. No friggin' horses. This includes those found on merry-go-rounds and in front of supermarkets. 2. The only motorcycle you can get on is the one you're accidentally crushing in your big-ass, air-bagged SUV. 3. All cast member motor vehicles must adhere to U.S. Army guidelines for attacking Kandahar. (Galecki's Tesla is a terrifically fuel efficient vehicle but is essentially a hundred thousand dollar go-cart. From now on it is only to be used for backing down his driveway and retrieving mail.) 4. The only permissible boating activity at Comic-Con is in your hotel room bathtub. 5. Alcohol should only be ingested at home, and while seated in a big comfy chair. Wild and carefree dancing that celebrates your incredible and well-deserved success is only allowed on New Year's Eve, and only with a sober celebrity parasitic flunky to lean on. 6. And finally, sexual acts must be performed while horizontal. Certain high-risk Kama Sutra positions might be allowed, but only after consultation with Chuck Lorre. Like with dancing, a spotter might be required. Nights are bad too. Once again, exhaustion makes the mind vulnerable to obsessing over woulda, shoulda, coulda. The only thing to do is sit alone and eat the chicken which was senselessly murdered in the morning. As I get older, I see more clearly, but not with my eyes. I hear more sharply, but not with my ears. I smell more ripely, but not with my nose... As I get older, I see more clearly, but not with my eyes. I hear more sharply, but not with my ears. I touch more intimately, but not with my finger... As I get older, I see more clearly, but not with my eyes. I hear more sharply, but not with my ears. I love more deeply, but not with my penis... As I get older, I see more clearly, but not with my eyes. I hear more sharply, but not with my ears. I think more better, but not with my brain... my head... noggin... As I get older, I see more clearly, Before Undoogoo would venture into the jungle to begin his daily hunt, he would don a mask to confuse his prey. Not a mask meant to frighten. No, Undoogoo's mask was pleasant to look at, designed to trick his quarry into thinking that he was harmless. In this way, Undoogoo was able to get close and strike a lethal blow. Which is exactly what he had in mind the day he spied a beautiful creature drinking at a watering hole. Hiding behind his benign facade, he positioned himself alongside his intended victim and prepared to attack. But what Undoogoo didn't know was that this "beautiful creature" was also wearing a mask. A mask that successfully camouflaged a fierce and merciless predator. And so it was that Undoogoo suddenly found himself being devoured, torn apart, eviscerated! His screams echoed through the jungle. But the jungle was accustomed to the sounds of agony, and no one came to his aid. Bloodied and barely alive, he managed to escape and crawl back to his village where, to his horror, he discovered that his tormentor had taken possession of his hut. Now helpless and homeless, he was forced to live the rest of his days in the wild, feeding on what dung beetles feed on. The moral of the story: Mask or not, if you hunt without a prenup, pack some ketchup for the dung. Guaranteed to rain on your brain, 'til you're moanin' with seratonin. Maybe what was happening was that they were in love with the idea of being in love. But that's still love, right? Instead of loving each other, they loved an idea. An aspiration. A wish. The other person was more or less of an afterthought. Somewhat expendable, or at the very least, interchangeable. I love that you make me feel like I'm in love. You, on the other hand, I can take or leave. Of course, it was just a matter of time before the truth of each other, the hard fact of their unique selfness, their one-of-a-kind snow-flakiness, became unavoidable. I may be a broken toy, but you are a Chinese crib factory that uses lead paint. Saying goodbye in these circumstances is always very awkward. "I just had your car towed." "That's okay, those Flip videos I said I erased are now on the internet." Never ask a question when you know the answer is going to be a lie. Silence is always bad news. Strong Nielson ratings guarantee employment, not self-esteem. Actors can smoke cigarettes because they're immune to carcinogens. It's safe to talk openly and honestly with people because they're not really listening. The two major groups in TV show biz are, naturally enough, show people and biz people. Telling them apart is simple. No matter how old they are, 'show' people (usually creative types like writers, actors, directors and musicians) dress like teenagers. Again, regardless of age, 'biz' people (agents, managers, lawyers, company executives) dress like adults. When 'biz' people start dressing like 'show' people it means they've made too much money off the backs of the aforementioned 'show' people. When 'show' people (usually directors) start dressing like 'biz' people, it means they're insecure about their creative involvement and need a hug. Censored 333 CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #333 (CENSORED) It was more fun writing these things when I was fairly certain no one was reading them. That is no longer the case. These days it seems like every vanity card is getting scrutinized and criticized by network executives, corporate legal departments and publicity departments, TV journalists and tabloid bloggers. Believe it or not, my musings have been both cheered and jeered by TV Guide! But lately it's gotten out of hand. Which is why I've decided to take a break for a few weeks. Let things cool off a little. Instead of writing short essays that upset people, I've decided to use my one second of network TV to do something simple and hassle-free. Starting with this card, I'm going to display a photograph of a part of my body that is entirely innocuous. No longer will I share some troublesome piece of my mind. Now I will share an actual piece of Chuck that is incapable of offending anyone. You know, a foot, a hand, or maybe a toe. So with that in mind, behold... http://images.wikia.com/bigbangtheory/images/8/84/Vc333big.jpgVanity Card 333Hinzugefügt von Doobiusmy knuckle. Oy vey. Thanks to the magic of computer graphics, the monkey in tonight's episode was not actually smoking a cigarette, nor was he ever exposed to secondhand smoke. At all times, every effort was made to make the monkey feel happy and safe. Nevertheless, he proved impossible to work with. During the week of production his behavior became increasingly erratic, to the point of refusing to come out of his trailer to rehearse. It wasn't until after we finished filming his scenes that we learned why. The monkey is a heroin addict. Yes, hard as it may be to believe, the monkey had a monkey on his back. Thankfully, an intervention was staged by the Geico lizard and he is now going through detox and a twelve step program at the Bonzo Center in Palm Springs. Everyone at The Big Bang Theory wishes him well. So, to sum up: I now have a thicker skin, I'm less likely to sweat the small stuff, and, perhaps most importantly, I have a renewed sense of humility. All in all, better. That being said, I still try to stay reasonably bitter in order to maintain my eligibility in the Writers Guild of America. CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #347 http://images.wikia.com/bigbangtheory/images/2/2a/Vc347big.jpgVanity Card 347Hinzugefügt von DoobiusThank you for watching The Big Bang Theory See you next year! Kategorie:Trivia